


The Past Comes Stealing

by bronweathanharthad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronweathanharthad/pseuds/bronweathanharthad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has bad nights, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past Comes Stealing

It was October the fifth. Night had only recently fallen, but all of the company were already asleep – all except Frodo, who had too much on his mind.

    Though he and his companions had only recently left Rivendell, and though he was homeward bound, he felt a great heaviness in his heart. He missed Bilbo already, and although he expected that Bilbo would live long enough to make it to Valinor, he feared that he might never see him again. The thought of returning home filled him with dread rather than excitement. He suspected that his return might feel nothing like a homecoming. And perhaps some unconscious part of him was thinking about things that he would much rather forget.

    Tomorrow would mark one year since he was wounded. He did not know what the day would bring, and he was not at all eager to find out.

    As night progressed, he suddenly felt uncomfortably cold. He drew his cloak and blanket more tightly around him to no avail. As he lay there shivering, ghosts of his past began to creep into his mind. He remembered the deathly cold that gripped him for more than two weeks, and for a split second he could have sworn that he saw dead figures.

    Fear rose in him. He had felt and seen these things before, when he was dying - or perhaps suffering something worse than dying. He’d learned the hard way that the wound was treated but could not be fully cured. Was the wound killing him even now? Even though his attacker had seemingly died, did the wound still have the same malevolence?

    Or perhaps the resurgence of these symptoms was some effect of the dawning anniversary of his wounding.

    He knew he needed sleep, for he likely wouldn't find it tomorrow, but his fears and his recollections were too aggressive to allow him any rest.

    Quietly he moved a little closer to Sam. Sam’s mere presence was often enough to put him at ease, or enough to make his cares seem a little less daunting. Frodo hoped that Sam would not worry too much over him tomorrow, though Frodo knew that he stood no chance of concealing his pain from anyone, Sam least of all. Frodo hated to trouble Sam, but he knew that some things were no longer possible for him to do.

    In the darkness, Frodo couldn’t quite make out Sam’s face, but he was lying still, so at the very least he knew that he hadn’t woken Sam up. He closed his eyes and tried to listen to Sam’s breathing. For a little while his breathing seemed normal – slow, deep breaths which led Frodo to believe that Sam was enjoying a peaceful sleep. Soon Frodo felt drowsy, and his heart lightened at the possibility of sleeping.

    But suddenly Sam’s breathing changed. His breaths were quicker, almost panicky, and he was trembling. Fear swelled in Frodo’s heart, for he suspected that Sam was having a nightmare.

    He didn’t know what to do. He feared that touch would make Sam more frightened, and he doubted that Sam would hear him if he spoke. He thought it might be best to wait it out and let Sam wake up on his own, but he couldn’t sit there and do nothing as Sam suffered.

    Frodo took Sam’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Sam,” he half-whispered, “wake up. It’s only a dream. You’re safe. Everything’s all right.”

    Sam gasped as his eyes opened. It took a few moments for his breathing to normalize.

    Frodo said nothing, waiting until either Sam spoke or Sam fully returned to the present.

    “Mr. Frodo?” Sam paused, as if uncertain that it was really him. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

    “No, I was already awake. Are you all right?”

    “I will be soon, sir. It was just a dream.”

    Sam’s quietness made Frodo uncomfortable. He didn’t want to pressure Sam into talking, nor did he want Sam to keep his fears to himself.

    “I dreamed that I was looking for you,” Sam said, “when I had the Ring. I knew I had to return it to you, but Sauron was so strong.” His voice began to waver. “I wanted to give in. I thought I would lose my mind if I didn’t. I knew I couldn’t, but I wanted to. I wanted to so badly.”

    Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam and held him tightly. “I know, I know. But you made it through. You knew what had to be done, and you kept going, and nothing could stop you.” He felt Sam shaking and held him even tighter. “You are so strong. You are stronger than I will ever hope to be, and I am so proud of you.”

    Frodo held Sam for a little while longer in silence, and Sam eventually broke the embrace. “Thank you,” Sam said as he wiped his eyes. “Mr. Frodo? Did you mean what you said?”

    “Every word.” Frodo smiled and gave Sam’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

    Sam hesitated a little before talking and said “Your hand is cold, sir. Are you all right?”

    “Don’t worry about me. Just try to go back to sleep. We will be home before you know it.”

    Quietly Frodo sang a lullaby, a lullaby that his parents – and later Bilbo – sang to him after he’d had a nightmare. Soon Sam went back to sleep, and Frodo soon after.


End file.
